


bug

by rhysgore



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Lowercase, Stream of Consciousness, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 03:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8085208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysgore/pseuds/rhysgore
Summary: he's seventeen again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> some thoughts based of the "i taught you everything you know" ingame convo

_“jesse.”_

in an instant, he’s a seventeen year old kid again.

the monster before him has his old teacher’s name, but that’s all that’s left. everything else is either gone or buried deep, deep, under layers of darkness and festering hatred and the agony of existence when everything about him is screaming that keeping him together is wrong, wrong,  _wrong,_ and still jesse listens, eyes wide, hands shaking, _listens-_

 _“did you learn anything since i’ve been gone?”_  voice distorted by time and decay, rippling up through a throat that’s barely there, air breathed out as smoke through a ruined mouth,  _“or are you still the one-trick pony i remember?”_

hands, raising his gun, shaking around peacekeeper’s stock, finger on the trigger. he wants to make the voice stop. every word that comes out of what has become of his former friend and mentor- every syllable is sending him hurling back towards youth.

he’s seventeen, fresh out of jail, a smarmy upstart eager to prove himself, hating the rules of the military, hating the people around him who look at him like he’s _dirt,_ violent, angry, lashing out at whoever gets close-

he’s seventeen, and one man takes a chance on him, pulls him out of the mud, gives him a purpose again, gives him a sense of duty, gives him something and someone to fight for, tells him he’s important, he’s a real man, now, not some bullshit wannabe in a rut so deep he can’t see a way out-

he’s seventeen, and for the first time, someone tells him he has worth, and he _believes it-_

 _“you haven’t changed a bit.”_ a hand around his throat, not enough to kill- the ghost won’t even give him that, won’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know he’s enough of a danger to need killing _“still arrogant. still nothing. you’re a goddamn insect, jesse. you’re only fucking alive because i pitied you.”_

he’s thirty-seven, and the same man who once made him feel like he could have been a hero is tearing down everything he’s tried to build for himself, laughing cruelly as he stops struggling against the grip, body slacking, mind reeling-

worthless. worthless. good-for-nothing, filthy, bad, wrong, a mistake, stupid, pathetic, no-talent, worthlessworthless _worthless-_

the ghost, sensing his resignation, drops him back into the mud and floats away. eyes staring, body shaking, fingers still trembling, white-knuckled on his gun, and he can’t move. he can’t move.

**Author's Note:**

> [on tumblr](http://rhysgore.tumblr.com)


End file.
